Mistakes
by MariaBernal
Summary: Everyone makes them. But do we all regret them? Mitchie made one. So did Shane. As did Caitlyn and Nate. Mistakes.


It's true. We've all made them. Maybe it was on a test, maybe a project. Whatever the case may be. You've done it. But it's okay dear readers. I, the writer, have made tons. Huge mistakes in fact. It could have been when I told my _best friend_ that I had a crush on that one boy. She asked him out...the very next day. I'll never forgive her for that. It may have been when I left public school. If I hadn't I wouldn't be as alone as I am this very minute, just as I type these words.

Sure, those were mistakes.

Another 'mistake' I made was telling the, at the time, whole eight grade a secret a close friend had told me. It's true. Makayla did have phone sex with some pervert that lived who knows where.

I'm sure a mistake is something you regret. I didn't regret telling everyone that Makayla was a cyber whore.

Regretting doesn't exist. It's as invisible as Miley...excuse me, Destiny Hope Cyrus' talent.

So why waste our time?

I happen to know a guy, his name is Jason and he is here with me today. He and I have discussed a few little stories about some people. Stories they don't want other people to know about. Some in my town, I could list them all, but you don't know them, so what fun would that be? Anonymous person did this...not very appealing is it? But if let's say, Shane Gray made a mistake, you would be more interested. No? I thought so.

We should start with Mitchie. Mitchie Torres to be exact. Why wouldn't we start with her? She's sweet, kind and beautiful. Everyone loves her. Well, atleast most everyone. Everyone, except Christopher Bell. Oh, how Mitchie loves that boy. In her mind, he's the definition of perfect. Him, with those gorgues gray eyes, his sandy hair and a smile to die for.

Why, what could ever be the problem Miss Maria and Mister Jason? You may be asking. That is quite easy to answer, actually. Twenty-four year old Chris is...well was engaged. To the amazing Candy Greer. Chris and Candy, let me tell you...they're a match made in heaven. And hey, Candy only saw it fit to have her best friend as the Maid of Honor. Hesitantly, Mitchie accepted.

Oh, how our poor Mitchie was crushed the day of that wedding. How destroyed she felt as she watched the limo drive away, the newlyweds on their way to their honeymoon where they would fuck each other senseless for hours on end.

Mitchie wasn't going to cry. No, why would she? Chris didn't love her, nor would he. He was married to the 'love of his life' Candy now. No room for Mitchie. She went back to her small apartment, sat on her recliner and stared into the darkness, whisking her Bourbon.

We should probably move this along a bit. Getting to the good stuff.

It's exactly nine months, four days, four hours and thirty-four minutes since Mitchie watched the limo drive away.

Right now, she's standing next to a weeping Christoper as his late beloved is being lowered down six feet. Mitchie doesn't see that though, she makes a mental note about how lush and green the graveyard grass looks.

Mitchie's not crying. No. She retreats to the back of the crowd watching the casket sink deeper into the ground. She hung her head, making sure the over sized hat covered the rest of her face and grinned.

She thought long and hard before slipping the poison into overstressed Candy's tea. Mitchie even hesitated a bit. But she got the nerve. And yes, she was calm and collected as she watched Candy sip her tea, oh so slowly.

Luckily for Mitchie, everyone thought Candy committed suicide.

Mitchie made a mistake. She didn't regret it though. Mitchie just wanted to be loved.

Never thought sweet ol' Mitchie had it in her, did you? All Mitchie wanted was for Christopher to love her, is that too much to ask for? But hey, if Mitchie can't have him. No one, not even best friend Candy, can.

I wouldn't want to cross her. Never know what she might slip into my drink. But enough about that, we should probably go on with the next tale.

Shane Gray. Hold back your screams please, he's next.

Where should I start? Oh, of course. All Shane ever wanted to do was sing. He is great at it, he could admit it. It's a natural gift, he was born to sing. He was so sure that it would be his profession. Nothing would stop him until he topped the charts.

Shane had only one road block. His father. Mr. Gray didn't want his son to be some singer. Most are washed up and careerless in the time span of six years. No, Shane should go into something that required hard work and ensured career security.

Shane shall be a lawyer, just like his father. After all, it was his dream to have a father and son firm. So it was settled. Shane was to go to the best college, study and become the greatest lawyer in the state of California.

But he wasn't buying that plan. Shane wasn't going to college. He's was sure. Because by the time this seventeen year old broke into his eighteen year, he will have achieved his first album success.

Mr. Gray wasn't having any of Shane's fantasies. No son of his will be a musician, he'd say. But Shane would just block out the discouraging words. If he can't hear him, nothing is beign said. That was his motto.

When Shane was fourteen, he had stolen his father's credit card and went out to buy himself state of the art recording equipment. If his dad wasn't willing to take him to a studio, then he'd make his own.

His father had thrown a fit, but was sure that Shane's current kick would fade out. He couldn't have been more wrong.

At age sixteen, Shane came home to find his equipment, all of it, missing. He knew where it had went and he knew who took it. Of course, he didn't do anything. No use crying over spilt milk, right?

He withdrew from his family. Only talking to his mother when it was really needed, never to his father. But he thought. He did a lot, of ways he could still reach his dream.

Sitting in his father's office, he rummaged through random files. Finding his father's will. Shane did was he wanted, scrawling in his own wish as his father's. For Shane to sing. He smiled at his work, all he needed now was his father gone.

Thankfully, Shane thought...Shane thought a lot, after all.

That morning, Shane took his father by surprise by offering to start up his truck, so it would warm up on that cold day. Shane had other plans. His father was stunned, but smiled and handed his key over the dining table.

He made his way to the garage, locking the large garage door. Next, Shane started the truck. He made sure all the doors were locked. Shane turned to leave, as his hand almost reached the doorknob it was pulled away by his father opening the door. Shane couldn't breathe, he was caught. Or so he thought. His father smiled and brushed past him. Shane quickly shuffled past the door way, swiftly closing the door, locking it...and walking away.

Put two and two together, my dears.

He didn't mean to do that. Honest. But a will is a will. Always respect a dead man's wishes.

Shane made a mistake. He didn't regret it though. Shane just wanted to sing.

Never thought Shane Gray, mega-superstar did that? That's because I was the only one to know. He'd be ruined if anyone found out that his dad's accident was really a plot that had been in the works for two years. Don't tell anyone, never know what Shane might do.

Who's next? Maybe we should reveal Caitlyn Gellar's mistake. Oh, so you have heard of her. I mean, who hasn't. Everyone knows her. It was her mistake, well sorta.

If you only knew how much Caitlyn loves to be the center of attention. All eyes on her when she walked into the room.

You may not have known this, but people get lost in small towns. Not physically, of course. In the sea of familiar faces, only a few stand out. Even in school. Most of you are still in school, no? You should know what it's like. To be ignored.

Everyone has their shot to be bright and stand-out amongst the crowd. Well, Caitlyn was the new girl. Sophomore year, to be exact. Too late to try and get your shot. Caitlyn just wasn't having it. She's be noticed. Whether it meant that she had to be well liked, or not liked at all.

It started of like any other wannabe-popular. The way she dressed. Forget the worn-out blue jeans and bust out the scandalous animal print pants. Caitlyn may have blended in her very first day, but she swore her second week would be different.

It was. People stared, and she was noticed. They murmured her name, the talked about her. That's what Caitlyn wants.

That was short lived, sadly. Apparently the way you dress only gets you attention for a short period of time. She needed a better plan. Something bigger. Caitlyn needs people to notice her. She _needs_her name on the tip of tongues.

And she's willing to do anything to have it her way.

Whether it was having to steal test answers and get caught on purpose. She got it. If it was making out with the head cheerleader's boyfriend. Caitlyn did it.

Want to know why? Because Caitlyn is addicted. Caitlyn had a fascination with everyone knowing exactly what she's doing. She wants people to ask about her, to, hear we go again, to notice her. And she broke.

Everything Caitlyn did. She needs everyone to know. Eventually, only getting attention in school wasn't enough for her. Caitlyn needs it, constantly.

She'd go out to the middle of her suburban cul-de-saq and sit right in the middle. During the pouring rain, the roaring thunder and the striking lightning. How she loved it when the neighbors peered out their window to check if she was still sitting out there. Caitlyn knew that in their homes, they were talking about her.

Where in the world is Caitlyn Gellar right this moment? I'm not sure really. Last time I heard she was in some asylum in who knows where. I tried to get more information of why she was there. All the details the police would give me is that she wouldn't step away from the ledge. The school building's edge.

But it's okay. She gets all the attention she wants now. Always being watched ever so closely by her doctors.

Caitlyn made a mistake. She didn't regret though. Caitlyn just wanted to be noticed.

Poor girl, no? All she wants it a little attention. Tis all loves. Couldn't you just spare some attention?

But we shouldn't be feeding her addiction, we should probably move on to our next secret.

Nate Alexanders.

Unlike Caitlyn, I don't think you've heard of him. No one really knows...knew him. Just like everyone else so far. Nate wanted something. He wanted pity. For someone to put their hand on his shoulder, to look him in the eyes and ask, is everything all right?

He couldn't seem to get any though. Everyone was too busy helping a family mourn over the loss of someone or something else. Nothing connected to him.

At first he'd do little things. Bruises and scrapes made on purpose, fake tears while sitting alone. It got him his fix for a while. Not for long though.

He needed bigger and better stunts. 'Accidently' walking in front of moving vehicles. 'Accidently' falling down a staircase at school, in front of everyone.

Nate needed their concern. Someone there to ask if everything was alright. And he was getting it. Get well cards, friendly visits at the hospital, the works. And that was might fine with him.

Eventually that cards stopped coming and the visits came to a halt. Everyone was so sick of having to deal with Nate. There is only so much pity a person can dish out before deeming it ridiculous that one boy could get hurt so much.

Nate didn't find this fair. He still needs everyone's pity. Their concern for him. But what could he do? Whatever could Nate do to get some wonderful, meaningful pity.

He didn't know. He wasn't an idiot, Nate wasn't about to go google, how to get pity. Sure, he'd thought about it. But he wasn't a silly person, not one to do silly things. That just wasn't him.

Maybe he could start a fire and lock himself in a closet. No, other people would get his pity if they perished in the fire. He couldn't have that, their concern belongs to him. Hmm...he could have gotten a girl pregnant. He was sure teenage fathers got concern from the community. If they didn't. They should.

What can Nate do?

Nate can go over the line. Like he hasn't done that before.

On January 14. Nate Gray slid a pocket knife blade across both his wrist. Just deep enough to draw blood. But not enough to be fatal. Or so he thought. Twenty minutes and a towel soaked towel later. Nate knew he had done something wrong.

Safe to say, Nate's idea was a bit. Sharp.

Oh my, what's wrong with me. This is no time to make jokes. I guess I forgot something. Always respect the dead.

Nate made a mistake. He didn't regret it though. Nate just wanted pity.

Well he got it. He just wasn't there to bask in it. Don't do that por favor, loves. I couldn't bear to lose you. Maybe Nate should have been much more careful. We could ask him but, dead man tells no tales.

Yes, I know Jason. That was a bit cynical. I should probably keep my comments to myself. The souls above did what they did because they all wanted things. So do we all make mistakes in the quest to get things we get?

And another thing. Regret. Is it something worth feeling? Whatever happened to forget regret and live today.

That. That's your own opinion.

Tis all from me, but dear reader. Jason and I want to ask you something.

What's your mistake?

Thank you.

* * *

_Well...that was my shot at being eerie, creepy and cynical. The thing that has mattered is that I tried. So tell me, which story was your favorite?_

_Anything to say Jason? No? __I guess I'll catch you guys later._

_Much love. Maria._


End file.
